


Phantom

by formalizing



Series: Tumblr Writing [11]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M, Sibling Incest, Teen Crush, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-15
Updated: 2016-03-15
Packaged: 2018-08-27 08:54:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 318
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8395384
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/formalizing/pseuds/formalizing
Summary: Just passing through towns and the lives of strangers. You might be breathing, but you’re still a ghost.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [yssanne](https://archiveofourown.org/users/yssanne/gifts).



> Originally posted [on Tumblr](http://all-these-formalities.tumblr.com/post/141129394154/you-tell-yourself-hes-just-a-phase-youre-going).
> 
> For one of [@poetryandoldermen](http://poetryandoldermen.tumblr.com/)’s prompts: “glass bones for wincest from the period when sam’s still so young and fragile”.

You tell yourself he’s just a phase you’re going through. (Because that’s all you do—move through things. Just passing through towns and the lives of strangers. You might be breathing, but you’re still a ghost.)

What you feel for him is only temporary. You love him the way you love a song on the radio—for just a moment, again and again, on obsessive high-rotation, until you know every single word and then you’re over it. (But he’s not a top 40’s, one-hit wonder; he’s a cassette tape classic, the kind you turn the volume up for. He gets stuck in your head, makes you hum his tune all day.)

He is just another adolescent growing pain stretching you too thin; his smile is just one more thing to make you ache at night. (Your sheets are stained with all your feelings for him. Sticky when you touch yourself and imagine the hands are his, damp mouth shapes where you whisper his name to your pillow, maybe a few teardrops, too—there’s a reason they call it a ‘crush’.)

But when you think of heaven, you don’t think about angels. You think about the gap between his lips, the way they press together when he calls you _Sammy_. He has to feel your name against his mouth, like a phantom kiss. (And when you think about hell, you think about the 6-letter word that could take you there—4 if you just call it ‘love’ instead. You wonder how your name might feel if he mouthed it against the small of your back, bit it into your neck and made you say his, too.)

Your bones are made of glass—hollow limbs full of love songs that want to splinter and sing under the weight of him. (But he’s just a passing-through ghost, too. He goes right through you and your heart’s the only thing he breaks.)


End file.
